


hell-bent

by armario



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Control Issues, Eating Disorders, Gen, Starvation, Young Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:06:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/armario
Summary: He wants to explain why he can't eat, mustn't eat. But Alfred won't understand.





	hell-bent

"I made you something."

Bruce's heart constricts. He feels so guilty, turning Alfred's cooking down. It's for the best. He'll weigh himself again in another hour, and if that number has gone up, God help him, he hopes the sound of him vomiting won't travel as far as the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry," he answers softly, turning over to look at his butler from his bed. "I'm sorry, Alfred. You shouldn't waste your time cooking nice things for me."

His words are robotic, rehearsed. He writes down different ways to decline food and keeps them under his mattress.

"You should eat them, Master Bruce."

Alfred's reply is a little snappy. Bruce knows, feels it like it's his own emotion, that the man's patience is being tried. He wants to explain why he can't eat, mustn't eat. But Alfred won't understand.

"It's not good for you to-"  
  
"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce says, interrupting him. His voice is weak but his tone is final and dismissive. He feels cruel, but the rumble of his stomach is empowering, and when Alfred leaves the room with a huff, he closes his eyes and circles two fingers round his thin wrist and smiles.

 Bruce doesn't have much physical strength these days. But mentally, he is powerful. It makes him sick to think that before his parents died, before he was so oblivious to the cruel world around him, he had such little control around food. He would eat anything anyone put it front of him just because it tasted good, or simply because it was there. He may have been a slender child, but it was only a matter of time, and it wasn't so much his weight as it was his ability to refuse food. Though his weight now marks his progress in that ability. 

 Having lost this much, he was almost terrified at how different he looks in the mirror. Now he welcomes it. He wants to look as different, as new, as transformed, as he can.

His other hand snakes down the covers to run over each protruding rib. This is proof of his self control and strength. His slim thighs, flat stomach, jutting collarbones, sharp hipbones, angular jaw- show he has ultimate control over his body. He has mastered his instincts. He has conquered hunger. Why can't anyone see that this is a good thing?

And when he finds the strength to push himself out of bed, stands for a moment waiting for the dizziness to pass, to study himself in the mirror, without a hint of arrogance he admits, that starvation makes him look like the embodiment of grief, vengeance, and determination; sunken cheeks and bruise colored eyelids tell the world that he isn't okay, he is hell-bent on destroying his weakness.

_Too young_ , Alfred thinks. Bruce doesn't hear his angry, desperate tears.  _Damn him._

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce doesn't deserve this honestly


End file.
